C&F Writing Competition. Can you freaking believe it?

[Nanohedron]

I must admit that I aspire to your condition.

So you will go ahead with the frontal lobotomy after all?

Mission accomplished. And I'm working the RenFest, now.

[carrie]

I must admit that I aspire to your condition.

So you will go ahead with the frontal lobotomy after all?

Mission accomplished. And I'm working the RenFest, now.

LOL!

[Nanohedron]

So you will go ahead with the frontal lobotomy after all?

Mission accomplished. And I'm working the RenFest, now.

LOL!

You laugh, Carol; but I'm here to tell you how liberating a well-done lobotomy can be. Very mollifying to the persona of the tortured artiste. I feel so FREE, now...and I'm fitting in just dandy with the hags, fops, milking maids, belly-dancers and virtual Scotsmen.

There. I've outed myself.

[carrie]

You get funnier and funnier, Nano--the lobotomy has worked wonders indeed!

Okay, as long as you outed yourself:

So I think to myself, "Hey, this gives me an idea! Maybe as the big pre-back-to-school outing with my kids, we'll go to the Bristol Renaissance Faire on the Illinois/Wisconsin border." So I check out the website and what do I find?

*drumroll*

Zilch the Torysteller - Master of Spoonerisms. Listen carefully to fascinating and sidesplitting tales of "Rindercella and the Bee Threars" or the classic "Jomeo and Ruliet". You'll be joyfully asking yourself if you really heard what you thought you heard.

Even at FenRaires then????

Bard to helieve.

Carol

[Nanohedron]

Yeah, Zilch is at the MN RenFest. He doesn't do Robin Hood, though, as once you get to Friar Tuck, you're finished.

There are some surprisingly brilliant acts among the career entertainers. I don't know about other venues, but here in MN it ain't what it used to be. If you're working, you can't drink alcohol, swear, or use blatantly licentious speech any more. *sigh*

[Bloomfield]

If you're working, you can't drink alcohol, swear, or use blatantly licentious speech any more. *sigh*

That would pretty much reduce me to sober pantomime. I wouldn't know myself.

Not that I worry much about knowing myself since the lobotomy. I do look forward to dessert, though. It's Tuesday and on Tuesdays they give us vanilla pudding.

[Nanohedron]

If you're working, you can't drink alcohol, swear, or use blatantly licentious speech any more. *sigh*

That would pretty much reduce me to sober pantomime. I wouldn't know myself.

Not that I worry much about knowing myself since the lobotomy. I do look forward to dessert, though. It's Tuesday and on Tuesdays they give us vanilla pudding.

You can have mine. I still want a snort of whisky. Or a beer.

That's the supreme, bitter irony of it: playing the Pure Drop while surrounded by unattainable tap Guinness. And all I can do is pine away. Water, good Lord...you know what fish do in it. But I steel myself. Smoothies are just somehow too precious for my tastes.

[Martin Milner]

Way too late for an entry, I totally missed this competition till my attention was drawn to it, but here's a true story for you:

Late and non-qualifying Entry:

It started with a quack.

Not quite what I expected, standing at the kitchen sink washing up. First I froze, listening, then shook my head, and then came a second quack. Not my imagination, then.

In my tiny garden, I discovered wonderful things; a female duck, which had emitted the quack, and eight small balls of fluff, which cheeped constantly. How had she got here? I had been on holiday for a week, but had been back for several days. How had she escaped my notice? This was, after all, Thursday. Odd things happen on Thursdays. Like Arthur Dent, I never quite got the hang of them.

I am late for work already, but I can’t leave this precious cargo here. There’s nothing for them to eat, and a cat eat them. What to do?

Ten minutes later, after a wild duck chase, I am walking nonchalantly down the road, carrying a bucket of ducklings. Perfectly natural, it is, after all, Thursday. Mother duck is following suspiciously, quacking occasionally. When I get too far ahead, I stop, and the ducklings cheep, and she comes waddling along. She seems to know I am trying to help.

Two girls pass by. I get looks. “Just walking my duck” I say. The ducklings cheep to confirm the veracity of this statement. They laugh and coo.

I reach the park after a ten minute pootle. There is a pond, where the mother duck must have lived, before she chose my garden as a quiet place to nest.

I get as near the pond as I can, and place the bucket gently on the grass. The ‘lings cheep. The mother quacks. Joggers and dog walkers point & grin. I am nonchalant. I tip the bucket slowly on its side, and the ‘lings slide out. Sensing water, the mother leads them to the pond, and in moments they are gleefully scooting around in circles.

That evening on my way home, I pass the pond again. There are so many duck families swimming there, which is mine? Impossible to tell.

I still pass that pond regularly, on my way to the shops, and pause to watch the ducks. Are any of these my visitors? Did I save any duck lives, or did I condemn them to being eaten by Magpies and rats? I can’t be sure, but I think that one of them is winking at me.

[emmline]

Once a family just like yours found itself in a storm drain near our hardware store, the mother having imprudently decided to take a stroll too far from her pond. My husband and co-workers fished them out with crab nets.

There are many ducks around here, and you sometimes wonder how much you're helping, but it's painful not to try.

[Nanohedron]

Yeah, Zilch is at the MN RenFest. He doesn't do [a Spoonerised] Robin Hood, though, as once you get to Friar Tuck, you're finished.

You know, it just occurred to me that he could do it if he used "Fiar Truck".

Damn, I'm good.

[emmline]

BTW. No. I can't freaking believe it. It must have been a dream.

[Bloomfield]

I am bumping this because I bumped the winner thread, too. In for a penny, in for a dame.